


Quiet Strength

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Series: OTP: You're the boss [16]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Vitaar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12912084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Bull paints Grace in ink. It's not vitaar, but it serves a similar purpose.





	Quiet Strength

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr ways back. Added here for Grace's canon.

Despite the previous night’s activities, Bull and Grace woke at dawn. She picked at the plate of bread and cheese the servants had left, sipped at her tea. He’d managed to make her forget, last night, about what the morning would bring. But now that the morning was here, reality came flooding back.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” he said.

“How can I not be? I’m terrified.” Grace looked down at the sheet, fidgeting, pulling it up higher. “I didn’t tell you, but Cullen wants me to ride up front with him. ‘Display strong Inquisition leadership’, he says. He said you’ll have to ride further back. I don’t know if he’s being spiteful, or not. Probably not.”

Bull understood the commander and he understood her fear. She’d never been one to enjoy being centre stage. Bull, he loved it. Couldn’t help it, either, given that he was often the only qunari in a sea of people, the only one towering above everyone. He reached for their dragon tooth pendants, passed hers over and pressed them together. “I’ll be with you, kadan.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lip. This trip into the Arbor Wilds, whatever waited for them there, she’d not faced anything this big, not since she’d stared down Corypheus at Haven. Even Bull felt the dread of inevitability. Grace needed to be strong, brave,  _invincible_ , now more than ever.

“I have an idea. Stay here.” He kissed her forehead and ducked out of bed, heading to her desk. She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. Always so modest, until he whispered filthy words in her ear and made her his.

He came back to bed holding a pot of ink and a fine brush. He set them down and lay his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him.

“You know qunari armour is vitaar. You know how it strengthens our skin, makes us impervious to damage.”

Grace nodded.

“Well it makes me feel strong, just knowing I’m marked, even if I’m not headed into battle. And you know how applying it is a two person job, how it forms a bond between the painter and the painted?” As he spoke, he slipped his hands down her shoulders, catching the sheet with his thumb and dragging it down to expose her skin. “You and me, we already have a strong bond. Distance can’t separate us. But you fear more than separation. Fear can be a powerful enemy. And Grace, you’ve looked fear in the eye and spat in its face. Whatever we find out there, you can defeat it.”

“I don’t want to find whatever’s out there,” she whispered.

“I know.” Bull kissed her forehead again, held her steady. “But you can do it. I’ll help you, like always. Let me paint you, make you strong like you make me strong.”

Grace’s brow furrowed. “You can’t put vitaar on me. It’s poisonous.”

He knew that objection would come. “I can still paint you though, with a different ink. You’ll feel it under your armour and you’ll have your tooth around your neck. I’ll be with you, in you, on you. You’ll feel my presence and you’ll be strong.”

She nodded again, accepting his offer. He climbed out of bed, asked her to join him. They both stood, naked, toes digging into the warmth of the bear furs covering the floor–bears they’d hunted together. The skulls of the dragons they’d slayed gazed down from the recess above the bed.

Grace looked gorgeous, the morning light playing off her hard-earned muscle, accentuating the softness of her breasts and belly. A real archer. A hunter, fighter, leader. He’d thought about painting her before, but the moment had never been quite right. He’d thought about the design, maybe copying his. She liked the geometry, the patterns. But today she needed to lead. She needed complete obedience from her troops. She needed to be the Arishok.

After washing her from head to toe and drying her off, rubbing and kissing away the goosebumps that had formed from the cold, Bull picked up the brush and ink. He may no longer be a man of the qun, but he would never forget where he came from and who made him. He muttered an invocation in qunlat, a request for strength and guidance, dipped the brush in the ink and made his first stroke.

Grace didn’t shiver, didn’t flinch even as he dragged the brush over her breasts and sides. She remained solid, her eyes on his, jaw tight, fists balled by her side.

An Arishok’s vitaar should be red, like the blood of his enemies. Sharp lines, like those of his axe. Unwavering, like his devotion to the qun. But Grace was not a qunari, not an Arishok. She was a woman in a role she was not raised for. She did not swing an axe. Her devotion was not to the qun, or even the Maker. And Iron Bull was no longer Hissrad. So the ink was black, lines curved like the flight of her arrows, curled at the ends like the tail of a cat. But the effect was similar, any qunari would see the resemblance. Bull smiled to himself, pleased with his subversion.

He knelt back, taking in his work, turning her around to check the details on her back. She turned and faced him, grinning. Perfect. Gorgeous. Deadly. Once he was sure the ink had dried, he kissed his way up her body, starting from her feet, up her legs, a kiss to both knees, over her curls, her belly button, every finger, her palms, breasts, neck, nose, forehead, and finally, her lips. He kissed her long and slow. Her hands found his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. He let her take what she needed from him. Finally, she rested her forehead against his, brushed their noses together. She sighed, bone deep and shuddering.

“I love you, Bull,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Grace.”

They parted and dressed in silence. Bull had to go and meet up the Chargers and Grace would have to see Cullen. Before he left, he kissed her one last time, in case they didn’t get a chance before marching. She didn’t look scared now, or fragile. She looked strong, determined. She would lead and Bull would follow. Always.


End file.
